


Duty, Honour and a Stranger

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Claiming, Elemental Magic, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Knotting, Light Angst, M/M, Mating Bites, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Royalty, Scenting, Secret Identity, True Mates, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: It is a joyful time. Not only is it the Wintertide festival but Prince Dean Winchester is finally taking a mate, the omega Prince Castiel Novak, and in doing so, fulfilling the conditions to ascend the throne.For the Winchester people, it is a time of celebration. For Dean, it is a begrudged necessity.For the Novak family, it is a veritable coup. For Castiel, it is a prison sentence.The night before the wedding both men sneak out of the palace, determined to make their own decisions about what comes next. Neither of them expect an unlikely encounter with a stranger, an encounter which will change both of their lives forever.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 323
Collections: Destiel Writers & Readers





	Duty, Honour and a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassondraWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassondraWinchester/gifts).
  * Inspired by [blooming stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19214911) by [casbean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean). 



> This is my offering for the Destiel Writers & Readers Holiday Exchange and I love that group SO MUCH. Cassondra wanted A/B/O which I've never written before so be gentle with me ha! 
> 
> Cassondra I hope your Christmas is everything you want!
> 
> Inspired by the amazing casbean's story which is just so beautiful it has stuck with me for a long time and likely will for a long time yet.
> 
> Merry Christmas y'all

* * *

Winchester Palace was large, imposing and might have cast an intimidating shadow upon the city beneath it. But the Winchesters were kind and beloved and everyone knew the palace was open to everyone no matter their status or complaint. On the eve of the Wintertide Feast, the castle had never looked more beautiful. The season alone required it but the impending nuptial rites that would be performed at the Feast itself demanded it. Candles of frosted glass and crystal-lined every hallway and room, burning impossibly, a testament to the Winchester affinity for fire. Great boughs of greenery adorned the building, decorated with frost and droplets of ice to represent the Novak family and between the chill of the ice and the natural clean, crisp scent of pine the palace seemed fresher for their presence. Even so, somebody, probably the Queen, had arranged wreaths to be strategically hung around the palace. Ostensibly, it was just another decoration. The fresh winter flowers wound into beautiful circlets, interwoven with jewelled holly berries, discreet cloves and anointed with oil of orange. If their distinct fragrance happened to mask the scent of disgruntled alpha that seemed to permeate every part of the palace, that was surely just a happy coincidence.

Prince Dean had been born in the palace, he’d grown up there yet as he walked to his chambers with his brother by his side, he had never felt more like a prisoner. He couldn’t remember knowing the place so quiet, as though everyone had picked up on his mood and rolled with it. Of course, he was hardly hiding it. If his scent hadn’t given him away the way in which he stomped about the place and slammed doors behind him would surely have done so. What guards they passed nodded to them in recognition, but they did not call out greetings as they usually would and neither of the brothers would have responded if they had.

Beside him, Sam had been working on something to say since they had broken their fast, but he was clearly still failing to find the right words. Every now and then his mouth would open, but he would close it quickly, having not said anything. “You’re sure you’re alright with this?” he eventually managed to blurt out, inelegantly and earned a glare from his brother for the effort. He shook his head, “I don’t mean _this_ , I mean...you know. Spending your last night in your chambers?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, his cape, which he found ridiculous but certain formalities had to be observed the day before the Feast, the day before his wedding, rippled from the gesture, drawing attention to itself and successfully annoying him even more. “Why not? I mean, I’m gonna be shut up somewhere, might as well be in my own room.”

He could see his brother fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he could see Sam force himself to be patient and that, like everything else right now, bit at him. “You’re not being shut away, Dean,” his brother said, quietly, “the night before your wedding is a time for quiet, for self-reflection. Tomorrow’s a big day-” he broke off when he caught his brother’s murderous glare, “okay, okay, _I know_ , arranged marriages aren’t ideal and all that, but,” he sighed, “it’s just tradition, you’re not being locked up.”

“Yeah, no need to lock me up when they already know I can’t go anywhere, right?” Dean spat out, bitterly and Sam flinched from the tone. That made him feel a little guilty, it wasn’t Sam’s fault. None of this was Sam’s fault, he was just trying to make him feel better. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he whispered, appreciating for the first time how his scent, usually just the right side of smokey was instead acrid and burnt, yet his brother hadn’t left his side.

“It’s fine,” Sam whispered back as they turned the corner where Benny, Dean’s bodyguard was waiting. He had the unenviable role of guarding the door for the night, ensuring that Dean would not be disturbed while he contemplated the start of married life or whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing.

“Sorry about this Benny,” Dean muttered, as they approached, but Benny just shrugged.

“No worries, brother. I got the cushy job, Andrea’s guarding your dearly beloved and he’s opted for the chapel all night. Besides, I put some things in there for you, might help you pass the time.”

The three of them stood on the threshold in silence, unmoving, before Sam finally sighed, “So this is it. I’ll be back here in the morning to...to-”

“To take me to my wedding,” Dean snapped, hating the way everyone insisted on dancing around the subject. “Got it.”

Sam looked like he might want to say something more, but Dean had heard it all before and even what hadn’t been said. Dean knew. So to save his brother the hassle of having to convey how sorry he was that Dean had drawn the short straw when he’d been born first, Dean stepped into his chambers and let the door snap shut behind him. He heard Benny shout something into the halls and a few moments later a bell rang out somewhere, announcing that for the next twelve hours the betrothed princes would observe solitary meditation in preparation for their wedding.

Dean threw himself down on his bed dramatically, but there was no one there to see him so why not? It was alright for his parents, he thought, thinking back to how his mother had hugged him and cried that morning. They’d met each other several times and knew they would be happy before their wedding. Even if they hadn’t been true mates, they’d at least scent bonded before the marriage negotiations were finalised. Dean hadn’t met his betrothed once yet, negotiations had kept them apart and so they wouldn’t actually meet until they were at the altar. Not that he wanted to meet him anyway. It was nothing personal, but all he had of Prince Castiel was the formal courtship letter that might have been written by anyone to confirm his permission for the arrangement. Not that the prince had received much more from Dean. They knew nothing about each other, they certainly wouldn’t have chosen each other if they’d been given a choice but that was sort of the point. Neither of them had had a choice. Dean tried to imagine Prince Castiel, which wasn’t easy given that he’d never actually seen the man, sitting in the chapel right now. Was he happy to be here? Was he as thrilled with the situation as his mother had apparently been; quite the coup marrying a Novak to a Winchester. Was he reconciling himself to his fate? Was he praying that he’d be a good husband? Dean snorted if he’d chosen to spend his last day as a free man in a church it’s doubtful they had anything in common.

Of course the bitter pill Dean had to swallow, the element that he and _only_ he knew of, was the reason he was so angry in the first place. He _had_ chosen this. He had personally signed off on the negotiations and had been the one to initiate them. Hadn’t he been the one to announce his intention to marry to the council and told them that he would bend to their choice of mate? They all thought that it was so he could ascend the throne. It had been ten years since John Winchester had died but Dean would not take his place as King until his marriage to a suitable omega. Dean had done nothing to discourage this assumption even though it was pretty far away from the truth. The truth was that if he mated and became King then Sam would be free to marry where he wanted. Once Dean was King, Sam would never have to worry about taking on that responsibility, he could have a life beyond the palace, he could find his true mate and mate for love, not duty. Sam knew, Sam knew without being told, that there was something going on beyond Dean’s desire to be King which was lukewarm at best. But Dean would never have burdened him with the truth. Now that the actual day was upon him he could balk at what he was about to do, he’d chosen it but he didn’t have to like it. He’d go through with it, of course he would, the alternative was unthinkable, forcing Sam into a life of duty and servitude even at the highest levels of society. A king was just a servant in fancier clothes.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face. This sucked, and he couldn’t see it sucking any less in the immediate future. His eyes fell on a package he hadn’t noticed in his haste to act like a disgruntled child. It was plain, unassuming and left on his bed among cushions and pillows that might have disguised it. It was only now Dean was looking right at it that he could see it and he frowned. This might have been what Benny had been talking about, something to pass the time. He unwrapped it and stared at the contents in disbelief. Clothes. Plainclothes, plain boots and a small pouch of money. Just the sort of thing a prince wouldn’t wear. The sort of thing nobody would expect a prince to wear. Dean turned the fabric over in his hand. If a prince wore this he’d become faceless, nameless. The fragrant salve wrapped in the cloth would mask his scent.

Dean glanced towards the door. Benny would not let anyone in until Sam returned in the morning. Even the most untrustworthy of guards would not allow the sacred rite of solitude to be disturbed. If he were to slip out, nobody would know of it. Nobody need ever know of it. And how glorious would it be to taste freedom, true freedom, where no one knew him, no one would command him. A glimpse of the life he was about to sign away so his brother could live it. The alternative was to lie here and stew all night in the consequences of actions he had invited, no, instigated. When he thought of it like that, there was hardly a choice at all.

* * *

Somewhere in the great church, a bell was ringing. The sound echoed off the vast stone walls and the air seemed to thrum from the volume. The Prince Castiel sat low in a wooden pew, feeling the chime vibrate through his very soul. He supposed that he should feel some sense of anticipation, that the bell was announcing the beginning of his wedding celebrations. In reality it gave him a headache. Thankfully, it was short-lived.

In hindsight, he should have picked somewhere more comfortable to spend his last night as a free man. Though, as a prince, whether he had ever been _free_ was something of a contentious point. He had thought the church would soothe him, that it would provide some connection between his new home and the one he had just left. He had been proven incorrect. The Novak chapel was small, quiet or maybe that was just because he was used to it. It would never take Castiel very long to feel the presence of the Divines there among the cherry wood stalls and the scent of the holy ones. But the Winchester church was quite different. It was about ten times the size for a start, but then, this was the cathedral of a grand city, far removed from the chapel of the Novak Palatine. Much thought had been put into the architecture and great stone columns stretched up towards a vast ceiling. But the empty space was cold, devoid of the loving presence of the Divines and only the faintest, lingering aroma of incense on the air attested to their presence at all. The windows were made of beautifully coloured glass though and Castiel would be lying if he denied his immediate awe for the vaulted ceilings and their intricate patterns. It was a beautiful building, but he didn’t feel particularly soothed. It occurred to him, even if he were in the chapel back home, the Divines would probably still fail to settle him. Maybe nothing could.

Allowing his head to fall into his hands, Castiel sighed, heavily, and in the emptiness of that place, it seemed louder. He was supposed to be happy, weren’t people happy the night before their wedding? But then, most people probably knew who they were marrying. Marrying a Winchester, the firstborn Winchester no less had been his mother’s triumph, not Castiel’s. Castiel hadn’t even been permitted to see the portrait of his affianced that had been sent to the Novaks. His mother hadn’t thought it necessary. He had at least met his future mother-in-law when she had visited to discuss terms and Queen Mary had seemed nice. That had been many years ago and afterwards, his mother had been furious that her son had been so quiet and withdrawn. It was a wonder what Queen Mary had seen in him, for everyone knew that it had been her hand in the marriage treaty. The Council was more interested in the economic implications. One day Castiel might even ask her why she chose him over his brothers, especially when Comtissa Naomi had pushed Raphael in front of them at every opportunity. When the arrangements came with Castiel’s name offered, Raphael had been furious, claiming that Dean Winchester was supposed to be his. The Comtissa might have preferred it to have been Raphael but ultimately hadn’t minded, one omega son was much the same as the other after all. She hadn’t even come to see him wed, she hadn’t needed to, able to revel in her triumph from afar. None of his brothers had come either, though they had at least formally taken their leave of him before sending him on his way. Castiel wasn’t particularly bothered, but it did seem to hammer home his loneliness. Queen Mary had greeted him, briefly but warmly but beyond her, there was no one here who knew him.

Castiel sat up so quickly his back cracked against the pew, echoing into the silence.

There was no one here who knew him.

His assigned bodyguard, Andrea she had introduced herself as, would be just outside the main doors. She would stand there all night, making sure Castiel would not be disturbed. Nobody would be permitted to enter, even if someone was to come looking for him before morning. But this church was huge, there must be another door, a back door, a cellar door, _something_.

He had no plan in mind, but Castiel rose casually, dusting himself down and walking over to one of the doors that undoubtedly led to the vestry and the back rooms. The door yielded, easily under his touch and he couldn’t help but smile. Comtissa Naomi had spent a great deal of time crowing over her victory in securing this marriage, surely Castiel felt the same. Surely Castiel was as desperate to marry Prince Dean as his classless mother. Maybe that’s why nobody had thought to lock the doors.

* * *

Evening had drawn in. The sun was low in the sky casting a red glow about everything and yet the city didn’t seem to be showing any signs of quieting for the night. In fact, some stalls seemed to be opening for the night in anticipation of the night's revelry; a combination of the season and the wedding of the Winchester prince. The air was still warm, the night chill hadn’t set in yet and on it danced a dozen aromas. There were nuts roasting over a firepit, spiced wine warming the soul of everyone who breathed it and over it all layers of woodsmoke as the torches were lit and fire bowls ignited, illuminating the streets.

There were people everywhere, far more than Dean was used to and it took him a moment to appreciate that they were all in town for his wedding. There were extra guards checking the extra visitors through the North Gate into the city, something he hadn’t appreciated would be the case until he saw them. He watched them all from the shadows, trying to keep out of sight of any guard that might sight him. His disguise might work on the general populace but the royal guards would surely recognise him, even dressed as raggedly as he was. As long as he didn’t draw any undue attention to himself he would be fine. Standing against a wall, unmoving was probably not the most inconspicuous he could be and so he figured he would lose himself among the more crowded areas, where the guards had less cause to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the public. He, however, was so caught up in his thoughts when he stepped from the corner in which he was hiding he didn’t pay a great deal of attention to where he was stepping. Which was how he found himself walking straight into someone who had evidently not noticed him either. Dean let out a grunt of pain and might have muttered a sorry and carried on his way, but he’d sent the person sprawling into the floor. Although a prince, Dean wasn’t a jerk, immediately turning to help whoever it was up.

“I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking and I-” the man, because Dean could now see it was definitely a man now, a novice from the Temple if his attire was anything to go by. He let himself be helped up but looked even worse than Dean felt about the whole thing. His blue eyes were everywhere, looking around, as though he expected Dean to report him for something. He glanced in the direction of the guards, and Dean saw him visibly pale at the sight of them so he shifted to block his view of them, “Hey, you ok?”

The guy looked back at him, “I’m sorry,” he rasped and Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it was not _that_ voice from such a pale face. Nor had he expected the way his blood seemed to thrum under his skin from just those two words, as though the voice resonated with his very soul. “I’m so sorry, I should have- I didn’t mean to- I’m fine I have to-” he made to hurry past Dean but stopped instantly. Dean followed his gaze and felt his own stomach churn, two of the royal guards had paused in what they were doing, were looking over at them, drawn by the commotion.

“Come on,” Dean muttered, taking the guy’s arm and walking them away, leisurely, because they had nothing to hide and could afford to take their time. The man didn’t protest, but Dean could hear him breathing heavily and he let his hand drift to the small of the man’s back in the hopes that it might comfort him. Where the man’s hand held his was warm, too warm, but that was surely just a flush from the exertion of their impact.

They wandered into a quieter part of town, close enough to the market that there was still a lot of foot traffic but quiet enough that they could find a spot under an awning to drop down and catch their breath. “You ok?” Dean asked again, for now, the man’s head had fallen between his knees and he was practically gulping down air.

“I’m sorry,” the man muttered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, I panicked and I-”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Dean said, kindly, his hand was still on the guy’s back and he rubbed it in soothing circles, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Dean wasn’t one for physical assurances or affection, but something about the man drew him in and he rested his other hand on the man’s arm, purely because he could. “It’s ok, you’re ok. My name is-” he caught himself just in time for his mind to go blank, “Michael,” he said, unsure why the unfamiliar name should spark into his head like that but it served its purpose. “What’s yours?”

“C- ...Clarence,” the man said, “my name is Clarence.”

“Hi, Clarence. So. You a runaway too?” Dean joked, knowing the truth and feeling only a little guilty when Clarence jolted backwards as though he’d been struck. He yanked his arm free of Dean’s touch and scrambled away from him, only stopping when his back came into contact with the wall of the building they were sheltering beside.

“How did you-”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Dean soothed, a little surprised when the man did seem to calm a little. “I mean, you’re a bit squirrely and there’s the way you didn’t want the guards to notice you but mostly?” he grinned, “Dude, you’re not exactly going incognito dressed like that.”

Clarence looked down at himself and then up at Dean, his shoulders sagging in relief before he gave his own little smile, “I suppose not.”

* * *

The church hadn’t exactly been overflowing with garments and Castiel grabbed the first ones he’d found. Of course, now Castiel could appreciate that it was as unusual for a lowly priest to be wandering around the city at this hour alone as if he’d kept his finery. The robes were white, heavy and beneath them, Castiel’s skin prickled with sweat even though the night was not exactly hot. They were also permanently infused with the sweet-smelling scent of incense which was doing wonders to mask his own scent which would have no doubt given him away as an anxious omega on the run.

“You an acolyte?” the man, Michael, asked, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?” Castiel flinched and the man obviously didn’t need to scent him to be able to sense his panic. He held up his hands in front of him, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just asking. You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re safe with me.” Castiel regarded the man for a moment, but he seemed sincere. There was something about him, something warm, comforting. For someone who had never felt truly welcome anywhere, not even in his own home, there was something reassuring to say the least that Castiel had come across someone who didn’t seem to threaten him at all. It was nice. Safe. He took a deep breath and all the tension he carried seemed to leave him on the exhale. Across from him, Michael reached forward to cover his hand again, a reassuring smile crossing his lips.

“There you go, you’re okay,” Michael said, kindly, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on Castiel’s hand. The two of them looked down at the motion when Michael suddenly pulled back, as though he were only now aware of what he had been doing. “So...” he said, clearing his throat, awkwardly, “You’re in the church or something?”

Castiel grimaced, “or something. _Wait_ ,” he said, suddenly, “you said ‘a runaway _too_...’ what are _you_ running from?”

Michael’s cheeks flushed red but he grinned at Castiel, “Nothing gets past you, huh?” He shifted his weight so he was sitting next to Castiel, the two of them leaning back against the wall behind them. “My family have me doing this thing, I’m supposed to be preparing for it tonight but...I thought I’d sneak out instead. Last night of freedom and all that.”

Beside him, Castiel let out a snort, “I understand.”

Michael looked up at him with eyes that seemed to glow green in the firelight. “Yeah?”

But Castiel only nodded, considering what he might offer as a backstory as the two of them fell into a comfortable silence.

“Hey Clarence,” Michael said, after a while, “you wanna check out the market? Maybe get something to eat?”

Castiel thought for a moment. He needed to get out of the city, but it was still very busy and he didn’t entirely know where he was. He was hungry too. And...he glanced up, catching Michael’s eye, there was something appealing at spending a little more time with the dashing young man before him.

“I’d like that very much.”

* * *

Whatever Dean had imagined his night to be, it had not been this. He had thought he might observe the coming and goings of the people, remind himself that they looked to him to lead them and he was doing all of this for them and Sam. He couldn’t be a good king if he wasn’t even the king after all. Marriage to the Novak prince would secure him, it would secure the kingdom...it would secure a life for Sam. He wouldn’t begrudge it...or at least...he imagined he would learn not to begrudge it. In time. For the moment, it was all quite easy to forget in the company of the escaped awkward novice who was looking around the marketplace in absolute awe and wonder, as though he had never seen such a place as this.

Night had settled over them, but the market was not darker for it. There were fire pits and lamps everywhere. Some of the stalls had put bright candles behind coloured glass sending beautiful patterns across the crowds. There were people everywhere, children running around despite the late hour and everyone seemed to be happy. If anyone thought it was odd that a priest of the Temple, however lowly, was walking about the place with a random peasant nobody said anything; they barely even looked. The atmosphere was too jovial for antagonism at any rate.

Clarence’s eyes were everywhere, taking in every inch of the bazaar and if Dean hadn’t known he was new to the area, this would have proven it for sure. There was something adorable in his innocence. Dean couldn’t help the warmth that filled him as Clarence moved between stalls, taking in everything he could, looking at even the most mundane of items with reverent wonder.

It was...nice.

It was nice to spend his last night of freedom in the company of someone who found such genuine excitement in mundane things. Or at least that’s what Dean assumed the warm feeling that seemed to linger under his skin was. There was an excitement there, a thrill thrumming through his blood that he couldn’t place, it was probably just adrenaline.

Clarence had paused at a stall, surreptitiously sniffing the air, “What’s that?” he asked, Dean, his lips parted as though he might taste whatever it was he could smell. For a moment Dean panicked, wondering if it could possibly be him he was scenting, but he quickly realised that even if by some miracle such a thing could happen through the layers of balm he was wearing to disguise his scent then he still wouldn’t be able to detect it through the multitude of smells that surrounded them. But the one that cut through them all was the distinct warmth of sweetness and vanilla and Dean indicated to a stall tucked away where a woman was preparing all manner of pastries.

Clarence followed the point of his finger and his eyes lit up at the sight of the stand. “Seriously?” Dean laughed, “you’ve never had a fritter before?”

“No, we don’t have them in-” Clarence broke off, “where I come from, what is it?”

Dean all but dragged them over, still laughing that Clarence could find such joy in something as mundane as a pastry sold for less than a denar on a street corner. He held two fingers up to the stall tender while Clarence wasn’t looking, “it’s a pastry, glazed with sugared fruits...They’re great.” The woman at the stall passed Dean two fritters and Dean passed one to Clarence.

“Michael!” he said in surprise, “you didn’t have to do that.”

Dean slipped the woman a gold coin and insisted Clarence took his pastry, “try it.”

Clarence rolled his eyes something about the gesture endearing him even more to Dean. Despite his initial reticence, Clarence took the cake and took a small bite. Dean watched his entire face light up at the taste, he dropped his head back and let out a sigh of pure delight, “Michael!” he breathed, “this is amazing.”

“Told you,” he grinned, taking a bite of his own pastry so that Clarence wouldn’t see the flush that spread across his cheeks.

They walked around the market, taking in the sights with Dean pointing out things he thought Clarence might find interesting. Not once did he indicate something that Clarence didn’t give his full attention and even as men started lighting torches around the place, indicating the end of the day, they didn’t stop their meandering. Neither did anyone else.

It wasn’t like the market to stay open so late and Dean couldn’t figure out what was happening until they passed a particularly busy stall laden with crockery. Clarence paused, bemused, and picked up an earthenware bowl, looking at the painted image. “The wedding of Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak,” Clarence read with a frown. Dean felt his blood freeze until Clarence turned the bowl towards him and he saw that the likeness of himself was so poor it barely looked human let alone like _him_. The image of Castiel was not much better. “That explains why it’s so busy,” Clarence sighed, putting it back where he’d got it from.

Dean mentally kicked himself, “Of course, they’re going to be partying all night ready for the wedding.” Instinctively, his eyes glanced up towards the palace that towered over them. He felt Clarence do the same.

“Do you think the Winchester Prince is celebrating?” Clarence asked, quietly.

Dean scoffed before he could stop himself before he shrugged, “Maybe. I mean. If getting tied down to a guy you’ve never met or spoken to before is your idea of fun,” he caught himself, realising that he sounded just a little too bitter and quickly covered it by asking, “You uh...you think the Novak guy is happy? I mean...it’s a pretty big step up from the countryside to...” he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the palace.

“Hm,” Clarence hummed, non-committally, “I suppose, but then isn’t he getting tied down to a guy he’s never met or spoken to having just left everything he is familiar with? His family? His friends? Maybe he liked the countryside. Maybe he never wanted-” he broke off quickly, his voice a little too choked for a passive observation and Dean looked over at him, frowning, a realisation quickly dawning on him.

“That’s why I’ve never seen you around before,” he said, slowly, aware that Clarence had turned to him with a look of horror on his face.

“I can explain-”

“You came over with the Novak party, didn’t you? You’re not just new to the area, you’re new to the order. So...your family think you’d do better in a bigger temple and sent you over with the prince’s lot?”

Clarence stared at him for a moment, his mouth falling open, before he said, quickly, “Yes. Yes, that is exactly it.”

Dean thought for a moment, his expression, unfortunately, giving him away. “I’ve got an idea!” he said, suddenly, grabbing Clarence’s hand before checking if it was okay. “Come with me.”

* * *

In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the wisest course of action Castiel had ever engaged in to let the man, Michael, a relative stranger, take his arm and steer him away from the busy streets of the market into the quieter side streets. They ended up near the Temple that Castiel had fled from in the first place. Michael had taken them into a walled garden but even so, Castiel could see the door from which he’d left the church in the first place. He’d started to panic a little at the thought that the palace assigned guard meant to ensure he was not disturbed, might come upon them. But just as that particular fear had risen within him, Michael had pulled him into a secluded grove, surrounded by high stone walls, leading to what looked like a park. Nobody was around here. From the looks of it, nobody came here at night, with only the moon to light their way. It was just handy that the night sky held a particularly bright moon.

“What are we doing here?” Castiel asked after a while. He really meant, ‘what am I doing here?’ but there was something comforting about Michael’s presence and not just because he was effortlessly friendly. There was something genuine about him, something that warmed Castiel, something that assured him he was safe.

Michael scratched at the back of his neck, looking at his feet as though he were nervous, before he waved a hand non-committally at their surroundings. “So, the Temple backs onto these gardens. They’re pretty beautiful, not many people come by after sunset and I figure you wouldn’t have seen it yet. It’s...one of my favourite places actually.”

“It’s lovely,” Castiel said, honestly. Even in the dark, he could appreciate the beauty of the place. The flower beds were closed up at this hour, but he recognised the leaves. Even though it was the height of winter, he knew they would bloom beautifully at first light. He couldn’t help but move around them, touching the foliage, feeling its chill. There was a fountain somewhere, he could hear the water trickling gently and it was enough to calm him.

Michael was beside him, gently urging him to look at certain flowers, pointing out rare trees, all without a word.

“I thought...” he started but broke off as though he couldn’t quite find the words. Even in the dim light, Castiel caught the blush that flushed Michael’s cheeks. “I thought,” he tried again with a little more certainty, “I mean, you’re in a new place, but it’s not all bad. There’s some neat spots if you know where to find them. It...it might make things easier?” he asked, tentatively, though he shrank a little under Castiel’s questioning gaze. “I dunno,” Michael added, quickly, “I can’t imagine having to do what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know about that. Didn’t you say your family had you taking over for them?”

Michael gave an awkward shrug, “Yeah, but...I mean at least I get to stay around them y’know. I don’t have to give up the life I have here,” Castiel saw his eyes flicker towards the castle, probably because it dominated the horizon. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Clarence,” he said, softly.

Then, as though he realised he was in danger of losing himself in his thoughts, Michael shook his head and turned a bright smile on Castiel. “C’mon, lemme show you the fountain.” Castiel hesitated, glancing back the way they had come. Michael caught his look and paused, “Unless you want to head off? You were trying to get out of the city, right?”

Castiel couldn’t help the frisson of panic that ran through him, but Michael placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, soothing him, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Listen, I know my way around this place fairly well, so if you wanna get out I can get you out.” When Castiel didn’t move, didn’t breathe even, Michael’s hand came over his, holding it tightly. “You don’t have to decide now.”

“I don’t know where I’ll go,” Castiel blurted out, “It’s not like I can go home but it’s all I know and I don’t even know the area so it’s not as if-”

“Hey, hey,” Michael said, both hands firm on his shoulders now, holding him, grounding Castiel against the momentary panic that overwhelmed him. All he’d thought about was getting out of the Temple, away from the marriage waiting for him, now that the prospect of actually escaping lay before him he found he didn’t know what to do with it. But Michael was with him, Michael had him. This compassionate man who had no business being as kind and helpful as he was being. “You’re okay. We’re just walking. Just two friends walking in the gardens.”

Castiel took a deep, ragged breath, forcing himself to calm down. The panic subsided only to be replaced with embarrassment when he looked up and found Michael standing so close to him, his brow furrowed in concern. He had green eyes, Castiel thought absently, he was gorgeous. Not that such a thing mattered. It didn’t matter that up close Castiel momentarily forgot to breathe because, of course, he’d noticed Michael was handsome, it was an objective fact, a fact that had in no way prepared for him to take him in at such close quarters. Instinctively, his nostrils flared, just a little, just a teaser to see if he could scent the man, but there was nothing except the pine of the evergreens.

Thankfully, Michael was so concerned for Castiel, for _Clarence_ , he reminded himself as though such a distinction were paramount right now, he failed to notice the indiscretion.

“Forgive me,” Castiel breathed, “I’m being ridiculous, everything about this is ridiculous. I don’t even know what I was thinking. Even if I could get back to my homeland it’s not like my family want me...”

“Hey,” if it were possible Michael’s brow furrowed even further, “I uh...I thought they wanted you to have a better life?” He wilted a little under Castiel’s piercing glare, “I mean...that’s usually why people send their kids off to the temple...”

Castiel sighed but he was being unreasonable, Michael didn’t know…

“Yes, well, for my family it was as much about getting rid of me as adding some prestige to their name. I have several brothers, older and younger...I’m not even the only omega, this is the only way I could be useful to them.” He broke off when he saw that Michael looked distraught, “Anyway,” he added, hastily, “I don’t mean to burden you with my problems. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, quietly.

“What? Why? What have you to be sorry for?”

“I just,” Michael hung his head and he was so close that Castiel could smell the lingering scent of soap on his hair. He breathed it in, deeply, for reasons that he could not place, or at least reasons he would not acknowledge. Not even to himself. “I sort of assumed that your family wanted what was best for you...Maybe...maybe this could be a good thing for you?”

Stepping back from Michael’s grip, Castiel glared at him, feeling a little guilty when Michael wilted under the stare.

“A good thing? Being sent away from my home? To improve the standing of the family that wanted rid of me? In an unfamiliar city where nobody knows me, living according to somebody else’s rules?”

“ _Or_ ,” Michael said, emphatically, stepping back into Castiel’s personal space, his hand back on Castiel’s shoulder. “Or it can be a fresh start. I know it’s not what you wanted for yourself but...does it have to be all bad? You’ve gotten away from your family at least, no offence but they sound like dicks. You’ll make new friends and some of them might actually be okay. It might not be what you want, but it’s an opportunity at least?”

Castiel sighed, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Michael’s eyes flickered to the palace behind them again and he chuckled, “What can I say? I’m all about making the best of things. C’mon, let me show you the fountain. You won’t regret it.”

* * *

Dean led Clarence around the gardens, holding his hand out to help him over the rockier parts that seemed almost treacherous with only the moon to guide them. That’s what he told himself anyway, mostly he was enjoying the warmth of Clarence’s hand in his. It was a foolish fancy, something that could go no further than arguably innocent hand holding, but hey, Dean could still enjoy it while it lasted. The guy was stunning, with eyes so blue his mother’s sapphires would surely turn to emeralds from envy. The guy was also promised to the Gods, so even if Dean was inclined to have one last roll in the hay before he committed himself to the Novak prince (which he was not) Clarence was hardly a safe bet. However much his voice already sounded like they’d indulged too far. He’d almost lost it earlier when he’d caught Clarence trying to scent him, he’d tried to return the favour but all he’d gotten was the lingering incense from the heavy robes. It was probably for the best.

They could hear the soft trickle of water getting louder as they trailed through the almost labyrinthine gardens. Dean and Sam had lost so many tutors running around these paths. Still, he listened carefully as they rounded the corner so he could hear Clarence’s inevitable gasp of surprise when he saw it. Dean was not disappointed.

Clarence gave a soft intake of breath, awed at the sight. The fountain was taller than if the two of them had chosen to stand on each other’s shoulders, carved entirely from ice that sparkled with the magic that held it together. The nymph depicted was elegant and beautiful, holding her hands out, as though offering the magic contained there to passers-by. In her palms blazed a small flame circling a crystal snowflake and even though there was only the shape of ice instead of a face, she looked happy.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarence breathed, dipping his fingers into the surrounding bowl, even though the water must have been freezing.

Dean leaned over, looking at his face momentarily reflected in the waters. “It’s a wedding present for the Novak prince,” he said. He’d meant to say it with a shrug, but even Dean couldn’t pretend to be blasé in the face of such a beautiful gift.

“From the Winchester prince?” Clarence asked, softly, as though he were afraid of disturbing the peace that seemed to surround the statue.

“From the Queen. Something about a gesture showing the joining of two kingdoms.” Clarence looked over at Dean thoughtfully and Dean covered with an awkward cough, “I mean, that’s what I heard anyway. Your homeland is all about ice, right?”

Clarence gave a small shrug, “In theory at least. There’re legends of ou- of the Novak ancestors being ice elementals, but in practice, all it means is that all the emblems of the kingdom are related to winter. I imagine it’s the same for the Winchester family in that regard.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as far as I know, they’re hardly blazing fire magic at every opportunity.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s true. My mother used to tell me stories about the Winchester fire wielders. You know the legends say the magic started with a Novak and Winchester mated pair, I think that’s why they chose a Novak for the Prince, y’know. All that romantic stuff about mating and magic.”

“They were true mates though, weren’t they?” Clarence asked, though his fingers were trailing through the water, sending ripples to where Dean leaned against the fountain.

“Hm?”

“From what I know of the story the magic only happened because they were true mates.”

Dean shrugged, “I guess. It doesn’t matter these days anyway, what little magic the royal family has left just goes on little things like,” he waved a hand at the fountain, “decorating.”

“It is beautiful though,” Clarence said, though his eyes were on Dean when he said it.

Dean shrugged, “I guess.” Then a wicked thought crossed his mind and he smirked, “Though, there is one other thing they say about the Winchesters and their people, a remnant from the elemental magic.”

Clarence arched an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“We don’t feel the cold,” he grinned, just as he thrust both hands into the fountain and splashed a veritable wave of freezing water over Clarence.

He laughed, doubled over, having to hold onto the fountain to steady himself as Clarence just stared at him unimpressed, his robes clinging to him as they dripped a puddle onto the floor.

Clarence rolled his eyes, “I’m surprised you’d be this short-sighted,” he said, gruffly and Dean was sure his heart had stopped at how angry Clarence looked. But then there was the hint, just a hint of a grin and he said, “Don’t you think a people descended from ice elementals might be able to handle some ice-water?” Dean had a split second to realise what he was getting at, but it was a split second too late to dodge the splash Clarence aimed at him.

Retribution was swift. It was surely only down to the lateness of the hour that they hadn’t brought the palace guard upon them with the noise they were making, ducking around the fountain, splashing each other in great waves before Clarence decided that they clearly weren’t playing for high enough stakes and he outright tackled Dean. They both fell back into the fountain, but it was enough to give them pause as they both stood up in the waist-deep water, laughing too much to be angry even though, despite their earlier insistence, they were both freezing.

“Alright, alright, you win, you win!” Dean called, doubled over laughing.

Beside him, Clarence took off the acolyte’s hood wringing it out and using as an utterly ineffectual towel. Dean couldn’t help but stare, he hadn’t seen Clarence’s face without the frame of the hood and he’d had no idea what the guy’s hair looked like. Gorgeous. Like the rest of him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. It was short, dark and even soaked it stuck up in several different directions as though it couldn’t be tamed.

Clarence wrung the hood out again and still chuckling he held it out to Dean. “May I interest you in something that won’t even remotely help in drying you?”

On his tongue was a witty retort about how the two of them were still up to their hips in freezing water, or perhaps he was about to say something about how he’d take what he could get. Whatever it was would surely have been wry and amusing, but Dean didn’t say a word. His hand was paused where he’d reached to take the hood and though he wasn’t all that cold, Dean was frozen. He scented the air, trying to pick up on what it was that had struck him, but in doing so the new scent flooded his senses.

“Is that...is that you?” he asked, his voice shaking a little as he inhaled deeply again. It was the first breath of a winter morning, all crisp, clear and fresh. A hint of pine that had nothing to do with the trees around them that complemented a winter frost. Dean looked at Clarence, aware that his eyes were starting to bleed into alpha red and he growled out a single word that seemed to reverberate around them.

“ _Mate_.”

* * *

Castiel stared at the man before him, unmoving, the only part of him that seemed capable of movement were his lungs which inhaled the new scent on the air deeply, taking it into every pore of his being. His inner omega, a being that had not had cause to rear its head for so, so long was positively preening, jumping into life at that first breath of woodsmoke and beneath it a faint hint of cloves.

“Michael?” he breathed, barely aware that he was moving towards the man. Michael crossed the space between them, his stride long in the water as he closed the distance and buried his face in Castiel’s neck.

“Clarence,” Michael whispered, taking in his scent as though he needed it more than he needed air. A twinge of regret that Michael didn’t even know his real name was quickly subsumed by the all-encompassing need that thrummed through Castiel as he scented Michael in return. The fact that he was waist-deep in close to freezing water was forgotten as they clung to each other, their faces buried in the other’s neck.

“Mate,” Castiel whispered, or maybe it was Michael. Maybe it had been both of them. But there was no other word for it, not for the desperate need that engulfed the two of them. The sudden but absolute assurance that they had found their other half of their soul, the only other person who could complete them.

Eventually, Michael gave a soft chuckle and with his arms still not leaving Castiel for a second, steered them both out of the fountain. Castiel was shivering, even though he couldn’t altogether feel the cold. He couldn’t feel anything beyond the immediate connection with the man beside him, the scent of woodsmoke warming him from his core. They did not separate, even after they clambered out of the fountain, though granted at least some of that was clinging together for warmth. Neither of them wanted to draw away, not for a moment.

Michael leaned his forehead against Castiel’s, so close Castiel could feel his breath on his lips.

“I never thought I’d find you,” Michael sighed, his hands stroking over his Castiel’s arms through the sodden robes. “Clarence,” he said, again and Castiel debated telling him what his real name was, they were true mates, he needed to know. It was on the very tip of his tongue when Michael cupped his face gently and said in a very small voice, “I can’t claim you.”

It would have hurt less if Michael had just outright punched him in the gut. Castiel’s grip on his arm tightened to near painful levels as though he feared Michael would disappear if he didn’t hold him tight enough. “What? But-” he broke off, his voice catching somewhere in his throat. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that was not on the list. “You don’t want me?” Castiel said, his voice breaking even though he tried to hide it.

“Hey,” Michael forced Castiel’s face up so he could look into his eyes, “You are _everything_. You are kind, you’re funny and I am so _so_ glad I got to meet you. I was even before I realised you were my mate.” He sighed, heavily, “Remember I said I had a family thing? I’m getting married, Clarence.” Castiel snapped his head up, wincing at both the movement and how close to home the words were hitting. “It wasn’t my choice, it’s an arranged marriage, but I’m not in a position to walk away.” Michael dropped his eyes, steeling himself for a moment, “That’s not true. I could walk away. It’d be hard and we’d probably have to run pretty far pretty fast. I’m not sure what kind of life I could give you, Clarence, but if I ran, it’d be my brother having to walk up the aisle and I want so much more for him.”

“More than you want happiness for yourself?” Castiel snapped. He didn’t mean to, he couldn’t help it. He’d never allowed himself to think for a moment he’d meet his true mate, it seemed to be the most spiteful and cruel joke the Gods could play on him to bring them together and then deny them like this.

But Michael didn’t flinch. He just stood a little taller, still holding Castiel even as he rejected him. “Yes,” he said, bluntly, though Castiel would have sworn his eyes looked wet. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, I wish I could just take you away, I wish...”

Castiel didn’t let him finish, surging forward to kiss him, their lips slotting together as though they were meant to be, because ultimately they were. It was love and adoration and sadness, a little wetter than either of them would have liked but Castiel was not about to let him go, not for anything. Even as they broke for air, they barely allowed a fraction of space between them.

“Can we just...can we just stay like this for a while?” Castiel whispered.

Michael cupped his face so tenderly it broke his heart and he leaned in to kiss away the tears that had started to form in Castiel’s eyes. “Sure, Clarence. Of course, we can.”

The two of them sat together, practically in each other’s laps, their backs against the fountain, holding each other close. Neither of them spoke, neither of them had anything to say, but Castiel rested his head against Michael’s shoulder and contented himself with inhaling the scent he couldn’t get enough of but knew he would never smell again. There was some bitter irony to know that he could never be with his true mate, not with his family being what they were only to find his true mate was in the same situation.

He thought about telling Michael the truth. Several times he found the words forming, a breath away from being spoken. He could tell him who he really was, tell him that he understood what it was to feel a sense of duty, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. What could it possibly achieve? Michael’s family might be impressed that Michael had brought home a prince, at least until they discovered the full enmity of the Comtissa. She would not appreciate Castiel subverting her great success and what of the Winchesters? They would hardly be prepared to let the intended of their son to run off and destroy a treaty that had taken years to prepare. True mates were rare, a blessing for those that found each other and a dream for those who didn’t. But it was all irrelevant in the face of politics.

Castiel sighed heavily and buried his face into Michael’s shoulder. Michael didn’t say anything, he just traced his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“What will you do now?” Michael asked, an age later, “If you wanted to get out of the city we should probably get you to the gate...”

Castiel turned his head slightly so that he could still feel Michael’s warmth beneath him, but now he could look over at the Temple. It seemed so much more familiar to him already.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel said, resolutely, surprising both of them.

“No?”

“No. Someone opened my eyes to the opportunity I have before me, a new life in a new place that I can make my own.”

Michael breathed a deep sigh of...relief? Yes, that was definitely relief. “Thank you,” he said, quietly, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s temple. “I was worried about where you’d go, what you’d do. At least this way I know you’re safe. Will you do that for me? Keep yourself safe?”

“Of course I will. And you?” he prompted, “What will you do?”

“I’ll get married to someone I’ll never love and wish it was you every day,” Michael sighed. “But, I’ll be alright if I know that you’re making a life for yourself.”

Castiel turned in Michael’s lap, straddling his hips, more than a little satisfied at the sudden hiss Michael made at the contact. “Promise me, you’ll do your best to be happy. If we can’t be together we’ll take what happiness we can where we can.”

Michael didn’t reply, not with words. Instead, he inched forward as he pulled Castiel towards him, kissing him with such tenderness Castiel felt his eyes burning again.

“I promise, Clarence.”

* * *

The same bell that had rung to signal the start of the wedding vigil rang out again at first light to announce the dawn. Benny rapped at the door to wake Dean up, but he did not come in. If he had he would have found Dean long awake and his bed untouched from the night before. Dean himself was sitting at his writing desk, something that had sat in his chambers as purely a nod to his role as prince than because he chose to write. In fact, this was probably the first letter he had ever written at it. He folded it, unfolded it and then folded it again, debating whether or not he was actually going have it passed on.

He’d gotten home a short while before the bell rang, having finally parted from Clarence at the spot where they’d initially met. It had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do, probably the hardest thing he would ever do but he’d done it. He could still feel Clarence’s hand in his and idly he wondered how long it would take before the pain of losing him subsided, even though he knew it never would.

Dean had slipped back into his chambers without anyone noticing that he had ever left. Or maybe Benny had, but he wouldn’t tell. He’d shed his clothes, wrapping them into a tight bundle and hiding them in a lesser-used case; if he was lucky the faint scent of pine and snow would linger and he’d have at least something of Clarence. He wrapped himself in his warmest robe, hoping to stave off some of the chill that had set in overnight, knowing that he could have a bath drawn for him this morning. It was the morning of his wedding, he would be forgiven for being imperious.

He went to the door, opening it so he could call Benny to him. Benny had known him a long time so Dean was hardly surprised when his face fell, as though he could sense that something was wrong.

“Hey, could you...could you do me a favour?”

“Sure thing, brother,” Benny said, as though there could be any other answer.

Dean held out the letter, sealed with his own device, the device he’d be allowed to use as of today once he took the throne. “Could you take this to my-” the word died on his tongue. Affianced? Intended? Future husband? “-to the Novak prince, please?”

Any other courtier would never have allowed the surprise to show on their face, but Benny and Dean had known each other too long and too well to have such pretences between them. Benny tucked it into his pocket and gave a short bow, heading off to find the prince immediately. Dean watched him go before he closed the door and leaned against it, heavily. He couldn’t even remember what he’d written. But he'd gotten back and couldn’t stop thinking about what Clarence had said, about how the Novak prince would have been brought here with less say in the proceedings than Dean had had, away from his family, his homeland. So he’d put pen to paper, blabbering something about how welcome he was here and how in Dean he’d hopefully find a friendly spouse if not a loving one. It was the best he could offer. Now that the letter had left his hands he felt stupid for it, so when the knock came at the door he practically yanked it off its hinges in his haste to open it, grateful that Benny had no doubt realised that this was a monumentally bad idea.

It was not Benny.

Instead, Benny’s wife and counterpart, Andrea stared back at him, a little startled by the ferocity with which Dean had opened the door.

“Oh, hi Andrea, what...what can I do for you?”

“I’ve just seen your betrothed to the guest chambers to get ready,” she said, kindly, as though she had an inkling of what Dean was going through even though her and Benny had chosen each other. “He asked me to pass this on.” She held out a folded letter, though it was unsealed, another sign that the Novak prince had had to leave everything behind him.

Dean took it with a nod, remembering to call her back before Andrea disappeared. “Hey, could you ask them to draw me a bath? Gotta look my best and all that,” he said with a bravado he didn’t quite feel, but Andrea just smiled at him and took herself off to find some servants.

It was strange to look at the incredibly neat hand over the page addressed to Dean. This was the first indication he had of the Novak prince as an actual person, not a nebulous idea of a future husband. He took a breath and read.

_‘Your Highness,_

_I, like you, have spent the night reflecting on the task before us and I regret that this is the first time I am writing to you. Granted, neither of us were allowed to do so, but I see now I should have done so anyway. I know neither of us chose this marriage but I wanted to assure you that in me you will find a firm friend and supporter. In just a few hours we will be married and while there is no reason for me to send this to you, I wanted to assure you that I have every intention of making our marriage a success. Love might be too much to hope for, but for my part, I assure you of my friendship, my fidelity and my confidence._

_Yours,_

_Castiel’_

Dean traced the words, ‘ _Yours, Castiel_ ,’ finding a strange affection blooming in his chest. It seemed like they were on the same page at least, but there was a tinge of melancholy to the realisation that all Dean wanted to do was find Clarence and tell him about Castiel’s offer. He could practically hear Clarence trying to hide a smile and saying, “I told you it would be fine,” but then he remembered that he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Clarence and he’d probably be more distracted to learn that Dean was a prince. That his name was Dean.

Another knock at the door brought him from his reverie and he was glad for it. He felt bad enough without wallowing in the decision he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret but could hardly celebrate either.

“Your bath is ready, Dean,” Andrea called and Dean rose from his chair, heavily.

“Alright,” he said, more to himself than her. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Castiel stood before a floor-length mirror, admiring the cut of his wedding clothes. His attractiveness had always been a neutral fact, something he knew to be objective but cared little for. Looking at himself now, even he had to admit he had never looked so fine. Granted, he had never worn a suit as fine as this and probably never would again, but even so, he looked incredible. The cream of the silk and damask made his eyes stand out even more so than usual. His hair, of course, could not be tamed, and no matter how many times he ran his fingers through it, it refused to lie flat, so he gave up.

There was nothing left to do, he was as ready as he would ever be. Castiel gave himself a final look over in the mirror and brushed away imaginary creases from his suit, flicking his cape out behind him. The cape was his favourite part and the fur lining was welcome against the chill that had set into his very bones seeing how long he’d spent in sodden acolyte’s robes. He couldn’t help but smile at his reflection, imagining what Michael would say if he could see him now.

Deliberately, Castiel forced his mind away from the memory of his true mate. He was going to marry Prince Dean, Michael was beyond his reach and would always be so. There was a sheet of paper on the bureau beside him, a letter from the man he was about to marry. It was softer than he’d expected. Kinder. Filled with assurances that even though Castiel had moved far from his homeland, Dean would do whatever he could to help Castiel settle, if there was anything he could do, Castiel had only to ask. Considering Castiel had sent his own letter just a few moments before assuring Dean of his fealty, he was feeling quietly positive that they could make this marriage work. Though even as he had the thought he felt a small tug in his heart, Michael’s face appearing before his eyes.

He sighed. This kind of thinking would get him nowhere. So he moved away from the mirror, satisfied that he couldn’t make himself look any more presentable and stepped into the hallway beyond the guest chambers, where he knew his escort would be waiting.

“ _Did he seem off to you_?”

“ _Did you expect him not to be_?”

There were two men in the hallway, the guard who had delivered Prince Dean’s letter and another man, a much taller man, who was dressed in robes almost as fine as Castiel’s. Neither of them had seen him leave his chambers and their heads were bowed in hushed conversation. The taller man ran his hand through wavy hair that flopped down immediately into his eyes despite the motion.

“No, I mean- I expected him to be annoyed, but this is something else. I’ve not seen him this withdrawn since Dad died.”

“He’ll be alright,” the other man replied, “It’s a big day for him, he just needs to- Oh, Your Highness,” the man gave a small start of surprise, catching sight of Castiel over the taller man’s shoulder. The tall man spun on his heel, looking momentarily guilty, as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, but he visibly relaxed when he saw it was Castiel.

“Hello,” Castiel smiled, seeing no reason to further stress them out by bringing up whatever it was they had been talking about. “I assume you’re here to escort me to the ceremony?”

The guard tapped the other man on the shoulder and stepped away discreetly, no doubt there were a myriad of things he had to do before the ceremony started.

“Hi...uh...yeah, I’m Sam, Prince Sam,” he added, realising that Castiel had no idea who it was that had been sent to accompany him. “I’m Dean’s younger brother.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam,” Castiel said politely, inclining a short bow, fully aware that Sam was considering him closely, taking in everything about the latest addition to the Winchester family.

Still, when he spoke there was nothing but sincerity in his voice and he extended a warm hand, “Likewise. So, I’m going to take you down to the temple, where you’re...gonna...um...”

“Get married?” Castiel offered, finding the awkwardness of his future brother-in-law endearing, to say the least.

“Yeah, that,” Sam, clearly unsure how Castiel felt about the whole affair and not wanting to antagonise him, however unintentionally. “Then you and Dean, Prince Dean I mean, will be given a moment to...” a faint tinge flushed his cheeks and Castiel found himself smiling indulgently, he did not envy the man his task, “to scent each other and then there’ll be the coronation, the feast and...all that,” he mumbled.

Castiel placed a reassuring hand on Sam’s arm, “I understand, thank you, Sam.” There was a long pause where the two of them stared at each other, Castiel clearly waiting for something but whatever it was had obviously escaped Sam. “Don’t you have to...”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sam breathed, reaching into his pocket, “Sorry, yeah, lemme just...”

The pot was small, yet ridiculously ornate, decorated with seed pearls and leaf of gold as though even this minor element of the wedding had to be worthy of royalty. When Sam opened it there was just a small amount of a waxy-looking balm there and Castiel slipped off his gloves so that he could offer his wrists. Neither of the grooms would be able to scent each other until after the ceremony was complete. Political alliances tied by marriage were too delicate to be thrown away over something as trivial as the two intended not liking each other’s scent, even though it was the earliest indicator of how successful the marriage might be.

Sam daubed the balm over Castiel’s wrist and applied a liberal amount either side of his neck, rubbing it in so that it wouldn’t look greasy. Castiel pulled his gloves back on and Sam straightened his collar for him. “Alright, that should do it. Ready?”

Castiel took a deep breath, “Alright. Let’s go.”

Sam held his arm out theatrically and Castiel took it with a small laugh, appreciating that if nothing else was to go right within his marriage, at least he and Sam had the potential to become friends.

The way back to the temple was practically familiar to Castiel now, even though there were considerably more people gathered along the way than there than he was used to. They all cleared the way, bowing low to the two princes as they passed, occasionally calling out a greeting or well wishes for Castiel. Castiel waved politely, but he was grateful for Sam’s arm under his, a steady presence steering him towards his own wedding despite the pit that seemed to be growing in his stomach.

He could do this.

An image of Michael came, unbidden to his mind, and his grip on Sam tightened involuntarily.

 _He could do this_.

Sam was saying something, no doubt introducing the people who filed past them into the temple, but Castiel wasn’t listening. Even if he was, it was doubtful he would have heard Sam’s words over the thudding of his own heart. He was dimly aware that he was perspiring, this was happening. He was about to marry a man he knew nothing about beyond the assurances he’d received just that very morning.

He would never see Michael again.

“Hey,” Sam nudged him, gently, getting his attention, he surely didn’t need to scent Castiel to notice the panic that had set in. “It’s going to be okay, my brother’s a good guy...well...most of the time...sometimes he’s an asshole but he isn’t a monster. Hell, he’s just as nervous as you are.”

Castiel would have liked to have been reassured, he would have liked to thank Sam for his kind words. But any reply he was about to make died on his tongue as a fanfare went up and Sam straightened at their cue.

“Ready?” he asked, but Castiel was saved from having to answer. What answer could there be? No, he wasn’t ready. No, he was making a terrible mistake. Somewhere out in the city his true mate was being married and Castiel wanted nothing more than to find him. He thought about running as the doors opened, as Sam walked him in, as they paused at the start of the aisle, right up until the doors closed behind him and there was no possibility of him leaving. Not without making even more of a scene than he would have initially.

The temple had been transformed from the cold, quiet place that Castiel had stayed the night before. Huge boughs of pine, decorated with ribbons, frosted with crystal snowflakes hung from the stone arches and all was candlelight. The empty pews were now filled to bursting with the very greatest of the nobility, flanked by liveried soldiers wearing the badges of Winchester and Novak.

Castiel saw none of it. His eyes were fixed on the altar where the high priestess waited for him and beside her, the shape of the man he was about to marry. The trumpeters swelled and the anthem of Castiel’s homeland filled the temple as he and Sam stepped down the aisle towards the altar. There were murmurings of approval as he passed the guests, whispers exchanged behind hands, but all of it went over Castiel’s head. He found himself inevitably drawn to the man at the altar. Not that he could see much at a distance. Only a man, dressed in similar cream robes, but trimmed with the scarlet of House Winchester. There was fair hair and...and there was something impossibly familiar about the way he held himself.

The steady support of Sam’s arm fell away as Castiel ascended the last few steps alone.

He no longer wanted to run.

There was no way this could not be real. He could hear little over the roaring of his blood in his ears, if it didn’t hurt so much he would swear he was dreaming. Then there was no doubt at all. He stood beside the man he was about to marry, a man who was turning to him with a cautious expression that froze into the same shock Castiel felt to his core.

Michael held out his hand and Castiel took it, feeling a warmth that he had never thought to feel again.

Castiel stepped as close as he dared and gripped the hand in his own tightly, unable to look away from the sparkling green eyes he thought he’d lost.

“Hello, Mich-” he caught himself and broke off, trying again with a gentle smile. “Hello, Dean.”

* * *

The musicians drew their fanfare to a close, but Dean didn’t move towards the altar. Beside him, the high priestess, Missouri, shifted a little and coughed to get his attention. Still, he didn’t move. The temple, indeed, the entire city could have fallen and crumbled around them and Dean probably wouldn’t have even looked away, his attention utterly transfixed on the man before him.

Clarence.

The Novak prince.

Castiel.

The temple had never been so quiet, not during the most silent of contemplative prayers as the assembled guests waited for Dean to do something. Anything. Then, Dean felt a warm press against his hand and he looked down to where Clarence- Castiel was holding onto him, gripping him tightly as though he were just as afraid that this wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be real.

Even when the man spoke with Clarence’s voice, tripping over the name that only he could have known, Dean didn’t believe it. This was a joke, a cruel joke, though he couldn’t imagine who would do something like this or why. He waited for Missouri to intervene, to demand Castiel come forward, but instead, she gestured for them both to approach the altar, her soft voice quiet but commanding enough to be heard throughout the temple as she spoke about the importance of commitment.

There were words about the importance of the alliance that was being solemnised between the two kingdoms today, the significance of the ancient ties between the two lands, even some poetry over the symbolism of the two emblems of fire and ice. Their gloves were set aside and in removing them Dean detected the hint of a tremor in the other man’s hands. As well there might be. Dean didn’t know what was going on, there was no way this could be happening, but nobody seemed inclined to stop it. Nobody stepped forward announcing there had been a terrible mistake and then the Novak family ring was on Dean’s fourth finger and it wouldn’t have mattered if anyone had stepped forward.

Clarence started saying the words of the vows, when Dean wasn’t looking at him it was Clarence, even though he knew it couldn’t be. Missouri turned to Dean expectantly and he heard his own voice answer.

“In the presence of the Gods of this world and the nobles of this land, I do take you to be my omega. I swear to protect you and honour you in-” he chanced a glance at Castiel and his voice faltered. It was Clarence smiling back at him, with such warmth Dean had to close his eyes against it for a moment.

Please let this be real.

“- in this life and the next for not even death shall part us.”

With her hands held over them, Missouri recited the final blessing on the two of them and they turned to face each other. A chaste kiss on one cheek, then the other and they were married. The immediate applause from the guests was drowned out by the triumphant fanfare that blasted from the musicians, Dean flinched from the sudden noise and beside him Castiel chuckled, warming Dean’s heart, until he quashed it down, refusing to believe it.

He tucked Castiel’s hand under his arm and together they stepped down from the altar, ushered into a side room where they could be alone for a moment. Dean was as impatient as he was terrified. The novice closed the door behind them and then there was just the two of them. Castiel was smiling, but behind his eyes, he looked scared and Dean realised he hadn’t done or said anything that the ceremony had not required of him.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak but Dean held up his hand, cutting him off. “Wait...please...just...just wait.”

His mouth closed obediently and he watched as Dean crossed the room to where a basin of water had been prepared for them. He took one of the white cloths and soaked it in the tepid water, wringing it out a little before he held it out to Castiel.

“Please,” he said again, letting out a sigh of relief when Castiel took the cloth with a bemused expression and started wiping at his wrists and his neck. When he handed it back, Dean did the same and then he closed his eyes and waited.

He did not recognise the sound he made when he caught the familiar scent on the air. It was somewhere between a cry of relief and a sob. It wasn’t until he felt Castiel’s strong arms around him that Dean realised he was actually crying, huge sobs that wracked his body as they escaped him and he clung to his mate.

For this was his mate.

Scents didn’t lie. He didn’t know how it had happened but the man in his arms was Clarence, _Castiel_ , it didn’t matter. This was his mate.

His mate who was holding him tight, whispering assurances into his ear.

“ _I’m here...we’re together...we’ll never be parted again_.”

Castiel stepped back and cupped Dean’s face in his hands, tilting his chin so they could look into each other’s eyes. Castiel’s were streaked with tears too, but he was smiling. Dean leaned in and kissed him, it was desperate, wet and it didn’t take away from the tension between them in the slightest. But it was a kiss and there would be more of them. There would be a lifetime of them. That thought alone was enough to have them kissing again, pulling each other impossibly closer until they broke apart, breathless, panting and...laughing.

For Dean, it started as a swell of emotion deep in his gut, sheer joy that could only be expressed with an incredulous laugh until the two of them were clinging to each other again, this time to keep each other standing.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean chuckled, wiping his face with his hands, “Did you know…?”

“Of course I didn’t, you think I would have put us through all that if I’d known? You didn’t tell me you were the prince!”

“Neither did you!”

They both dissolved into laughter again. Dean couldn’t believe it, but his mate was here and they were married. They would never be parted again.

“Maybe we should try again,” Castiel offered, releasing Dean and taking a few steps backwards. He bowed, low and when he came up his smile seemed more holy than any of the relics the temple held around them. “Your Highness, I am Prince Castiel of the Novaks and I am very glad to meet you.”

Dean stepped forward into Castiel’s space and taking his hand, raised it to his lips to kiss. “Prince Dean Winchester. I-”

Whatever Dean was going to say was lost at the tentative knock at the door and the nervous face of the acolyte appeared in the doorway. “Your Highnesses,” he mumbled, “They’re ready for you.” He disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving Dean and Castiel to draw together once more.

Tentatively, Dean brushed Castiel’s hair back, more so that he could run his fingers through his husband’s, his mate’s hair than to tidy it. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

Castiel reached up and covered Dean’s hand with his own, holding it there, firmly. “Dean, I am never leaving your side again.”

–

The best possible outcome for two newly married princes who had had no say in their choice of partner was that they would emerge from the side chapel with cordial smiles. In an absolute worst-case scenario they would discover that they hated each other’s scents and the marriage would be doomed from the start. They would emerge from the room scowling and it would be just a matter of time before they moved into separate wings or worse, separate palaces. Nobody could have predicted that the two princes would emerge arm in arm, beaming at each other. From the moment they stepped out, Castiel was aware of the hushed whispers that erupted around the room, but he wasn’t surprised.

Nor did he care. He only had eyes for Dean. Dean whose smile was brighter than the sun and who wouldn’t look away from him, though he startled when the fanfare broke out again. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at the way he frowned, glaring daggers at the trumpeters. He nudged Dean playfully in the ribs as the two of them tried not to stumble towards the altar where two thrones had been set out for them. Castiel didn’t mind the whispers, he was giddy with happiness and whenever he caught Dean’s eye, he saw that he felt the same way. The parting of the night before seemed like a distant memory in the face of this, this that was real and utterly unbreakable.

Dean did not release Castiel’s hand for a moment. Not as they ascended the steps to the throne, not even when they took their seats, facing the assembled nobles. Even then he reached into the gap between them, taking Castiel’s hand firmly and refusing to let it go. Castiel found he couldn’t quite look away from where their hands joined, only doing so to steal a look at his new husband, usually finding him looking right back, staring at him in open adoration.

Somewhere behind the two of them, the priestess was speaking again, this time announcing that in taking an omega, Prince Dean could now be crowned King, something which was greeted with widespread applause and cheers. Of course, Castiel had known that the Winchester prince could not be crowned king until he married, that had after all been at the heart of the marriage negotiations. Before he’d met Dean, Castiel had imagined himself being used as a means to an end, and for this to be the prince’s triumphant moment in claiming his kingdom. But looking over at him now, Castiel saw Dean’s lips drawn into a tight smile, his eyes looking deliberately ahead and he realised, Dean was terrified. And then he realised something else, he could help. Relaxing into the throne which was more lavish than comfortable, Castiel allowed himself to calm, looking at Dean and thinking about everything he had gained. He was with his mate, he was home. Dean glanced over suddenly, his nostrils flaring as he scented his mate’s deliberately soothing scent and they shared a smile. They were still holding hands and Dean squeezed Castiel’s affectionately, while Missouri drew her speech to a close. She placed a crown on Dean’s head, heavy and golden decorated with several rubies it was ostentatious to say the least and Castiel saw Dean wince under its weight. He would likely never wear it again. By comparison, Castiel was perfectly happy with his own crown, an ornate circlet of silver woven into elaborate patterns. It was a little on the feminine side, but then most omega heirlooms were. Dean apparently didn’t mind, looking at Castiel a little in awe and Castiel already knew the silver would suit his blue eyes and cream robes.

“Winchester! I present your new king,” the priestess announced, placing her hands gently on Dean and Castiel’s shoulders to indicate they should rise. Even as they did so Dean’s hold on Castiel’s hand was absolute. Castiel didn’t mind in the slightest. The nobility rose with them in a mass rustle of silks, velvet and brocade as the priestess stepped in front of them.

“May all here bear witness and pledge their fealty to King Dean and Prince Cas-”

“ _King_ Castiel,” Dean said, loudly, cutting her off before she could finish. Everyone’s eyes turned to Dean, including Castiel’s. “He is my husband and he will be addressed accordingly,” Dean said to the priestess but loudly enough that everyone in the temple could have heard it in the silence.

Nobody moved. Nobody even breathed.

Not until the priestess, after only the shortest of pauses, said, “King Dean and King Castiel.”

There was another hesitation before the rustle returned as the assembled guests all bowed low before their new king and then, of course, the trumpeters engaged in yet another fanfare. Castiel caught Dean’s gaze and they both rolled their eyes, sharing a chuckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Castiel said, quietly, not that he could possibly have been heard over the musicians.

Dean tucked Castiel’s arm under his own, pulling him close. “You are everything to me and I’m going to prove it however I can,” he said, with surprising sincerity and Castiel, figuring that decorum had already been thrown to the wind, leaned over and kissed Dean on the cheek. It was worth it for the bright smile he received in return. He was well aware that the guests were looking at them curiously, of course, they wanted their prince to be happy, but nobody could have expected this. Not that their stares bothered Castiel, they could wonder all they wanted, he and Dean were married and nobody could take that away from them.

He allowed Dean to lead them from the temple, heading back towards the palace as the two of them waved, only a little awkwardly, to the crowds that had gathered to cheer them on. Unlike the assembled nobles, the crowds seemed thrilled that Dean and Castiel were getting on so well and when Castiel leaned in to kiss Dean on the cheek they went positively wild, screaming blessings at them and throwing camellias and peonies at their feet.

Queen Mary was waiting to greet them at the great hall, having not been allowed to attend the wedding out of some archaic custom that everyone agreed was outdated but nobody had actually overturned. Still, she held the traditional honour of hosting the feast, probably the finest the kingdom had ever and would ever see as it celebrated a marriage, a coronation and the day of Wintertide all at once.

Dean left his side to talk to his mother, but Castiel barely noticed, looking around the hall with undisguised awe. He knew living at the palace would be a far grander affair than he was used to back home, but even so, the great hall took his breath away. At least three times the size of the Comtissa’s hall, Queen Mary had managed to make the place look elegant when it could so easily have looked garish. The silvers and blues of the Novaks contrasted beautifully with the red and gold of the Winchesters, having the added effect of looking appropriately seasonable, even if it was purely coincidental. Castiel was admiring the table candles, bound in wreaths of winter greens and fire berries, positively glowing by the light of the flames when he heard his name mentioned.

He turned to find Dean introducing his mother to his new husband, even though Queen Mary was probably the only face Castiel would find familiar. Nonetheless, Castiel took her hand, kissed it and bowed low, though the Queen seemed unimpressed. With firm and insistent hands, she took his shoulders and raised him up, pulling her new son in law into a tight embrace. Leaning into the hug Castiel realised that it was Queen Mary’s insistence that had brought him here.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, only a little surprised to find that she apparently knew exactly what he was talking about. Convention required her to wear black, as the widow of the old king in the presence of the new, even when the new king was her own son, but even so, her eyes sparkled and she beamed at him.

“Thank _you_ ,” she insisted, “I knew you’d be the one to make my son happy.”

Castiel didn’t ask how she had known, not that he had the chance to anyway, as Dean took his hand reverently and murmured, “He sure will.”

Under his husband’s adoring gaze, Castiel couldn’t help but flush but the Queen didn’t seem at all fazed by such an obvious display of affection.

“Go moon over each other at the table,” she laughed, shooing them away, “I have to greet your guests.” She rolled her eyes, as though she couldn’t think of anything more tedious than shaking hands with every noble in the kingdom, all vying to shower their praises on the new king. Already Castiel knew he liked his mother in law more than he had ever loved his own mother.

Again Dean took his hand, slipping them together as though they were made for each other, which of course they were. Thankfully, the chairs they had been allotted for the feast were far more comfortable than the thrones they had sat upon in the temple. The guests were starting to file in but Castiel only had eyes for Dean, who rubbed at the trimming of his crown and grumbled.

“Do I have to wear this all day?”

Stifling a snigger, Castiel said, “It’s very becoming,” which earned him a harsh nudge from Dean.

“It’s idiotic.”

“It’s very...kingly,” Castiel laughed because it was the most ostentatious thing he’d ever seen and even though Dean wore it well it looked a little ridiculous without the pomp and ceremony of the coronation behind it.

There was that adoring look again as Dean reached out and touched Castiel’s own crown. “Yeah, well you look beautiful.”

Castiel’s heart swelled and he wondered if the feeling of euphoria simply from being in Dean’s presence would ever fade. He already knew it wouldn’t.

The two of them were so caught up in each other’s gaze, they didn’t notice Sam approach. By the time Castiel actually looked up, it had been clear that Sam had been clearing his throat to get their attention for some time.

“Well, you two look...cosy,” he said, folding his arms as though he were being left out of a conspiracy.

Dean reached up and placed a hand on his brother’s arm, gesturing to Castiel with the other. “Hey, Sam, meet Castiel, my mate.”

Castiel snorted as Sam rolled his eyes, seemingly unimpressed. “Yeah, we met, remember I walked him down the aisle?”

“No, Sam, Castiel is my mate. My _mate_.”

For a moment it was clear the emphasised significance of the word was lost on him before his frown broke into shock and then a smile. To Castiel’s surprise, it was he who Sam hugged first. Almost taking the two of them to the floor as his superior height overwhelmed Castiel if it hadn’t been for Dean steadying them at the last moment the table would likely have gone with them. Dean at least was prepared for his gargantuan brother’s embrace.

“I am so happy for you guys,” Sam said, warmly. Castiel couldn’t help but smile back at him, across the room Queen Mary kept glancing up at them, shooting them an enthusiastic wave when she caught his eye. This was his family. He was aware that there was a lump in his throat, this was a world away from what he had imagined, even before he’d met ‘Michael’.

“Anyway, I came to tell you your new suite is ready and mom says you’re allowed to tour it whenever you’re ready.” Sam patted them both on their shoulders and disappeared to talk to some noble or other, leaving Dean and Castiel to carry on making eyes at each other.

“So, how about it, you wanna go tour our new home?”

 _Our_.

Castiel was on the verge of saying yes, his lips had parted so the word could be spoken, when an idea struck him and instead, he smiled, wickedly, and leaned in so he could whisper into Dean’s ear.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think if the two of us were to tour our rooms we wouldn’t make it back out again.”

From the breathy moan that escaped Dean, it was clear he had caught the train of thought.

“Cas,” he breathed, “You can’t say shit like that!”

“It’s true though,” Castiel smirked, “We’re not going to look at our new bed unless I can keep you in it.”

Several of the nobles nearby looked up in alarm as their new king let out a pained groan. It was probably something he’d eaten. Even though food had yet to be served.

* * *

Dean managed to last until the last noble had taken their seat before he took his crown off, placing it on the table before him. He rubbed at his hair where the fur had made him sweat and stretched his neck, revelling in the loss of the weight. Beside him, Castiel didn’t even try to stifle his chuckle and Dean nudged him with mock harshness.

“Laugh it up,” he grumbled, trying to sound serious, “That thing’ll break my neck if I wear it all day.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Castiel said, with the faint hint of laughter in his voice. Dean had already decided that Castiel’s laugh was his favourite sound in the world. Castiel reached over and started massaging Dean’s neck as best he could at such an angle with one hand and Dean groaned at the relief it offered. Everything about Castiel was his favourite thing in the world.

The chefs at the palace were renowned throughout the world for their culinary ability, but even by their own high standards, they had outdone themselves. But Dean barely tasted anything put before him, his attention wholly on his husband, beside him.

His husband.

He would never tire of that.

The feast dragged on, even though it would usually be the kind of thing Dean would love. But now, every course was a chore, every person who wanted to congratulate them was an unwelcome intruder. At least the dancing gave them the chance to be close to each other. No sooner had a liveried servant announced that the newlyweds were to take to the floor than Dean had grabbed Castiel’s hand and pulled him away.

They were supposed to perform a traditional dance of courting, one where they would step around each other in strict movements, bowing and turning with surprisingly little contact given that it was their first dance as a couple. Dean had no intention of following through with that. Instead, he pulled Castiel towards him, hooking one arm around his waist, and linking their fingers together. Castiel looked up at him from under his circlet that complimented the blue of his eyes so perfectly and smiled, giving his hand a squeeze and stepping close enough that Dean couldn’t help but scent him.

He barely paid any attention to the dance, too absorbed in their closeness to put on a show. Instead, the two of them moved in a tight circle, revelling in each other’s presence. Castiel rested his head against Dean’s shoulder and let himself be turned, so Dean pulled him in closer, smiling at his new husband, knowing that they could be this close forever.

There were whispers of course. By now he wouldn’t be surprised if the knowledge the two of them were true mates had spread throughout the assembled guests. Not that it was any of their concern and Dean didn’t care to listen for the gossip. If anyone had been in any doubt as to how close the new king and his husband had become so quickly, Dean put it all to rest when the music ended and he cupped Castiel’s face, kissing him tenderly in front of everyone.

They were not the centre of attention for very long, as the musicians continued and people stepped onto the floor, forming lines for the sake of traditional dances. Dean drew back from Castiel, who was still standing with his eyes closed, a small smile playing on his lips and as Dean moved away, he pulled him back in to kiss him again.

“I love you,” Castiel murmured against Dean’s lips and Dean felt his heart swell.

“I love you too, Cas,” he breathed, marvelling at the way Castiel’s smile spread across his face as though Dean had gifted him the moon.

For the longest time, they just smiled at each other. Dean was reminded of all the poetry he’d ever been forced to read where wordsmiths had blown sentiments all out of proportion. At the time Dean had wondered why they had bothered with such ridiculous expressions, now they didn’t seem to be enough. Nothing would ever be enough to describe how utterly perfect the man in his arms was.

And as though to cement that notion, Castiel leaned in and said, quietly, “Is it too early for us to sneak out and visit our new rooms?”

His tone was innocent enough, but Dean caught the slight change in his scent, an edge of spice to the fresh, clear wintery aroma. A spike of heat.

“I’ll have to check with the king,” Dean rasped, his voice a little lower than he would have liked. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nobody stopped them as they slipped out, not that anyone could have given that Dean was now the ruler of everyone present. It could not have been more obvious what they were doing. They practically ran from the room, Dean pulling Castiel along behind him, seeing as he knew where the rooms were. It should only have been a short walk to the other side of the palace, but it seemed to take ten times longer given how they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. More than once Castiel pressed Dean against a wall and kissed him to within an inch of his life. More than once Dean returned the favour.

The royal guards that lined the halls more for appearances than security were blessedly silent.

“Alright, alright,” Dean sighed, brushing himself down, trying to remove the creases that Castiel had caused in his robes. Not that he particularly minded them. “Let’s check out our new home and then...” he broke off and swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought process for fear of embarrassing himself.

“Let’s,” Castiel said with faux innocence, as though he wasn’t doing everything he could to drive his husband wild without doing anything at all.

‘Rooms’ was something of an understatement. An entire wing of the palace had been refurbished for the newlyweds, though thankfully Mary’s hand was everywhere and all was tasteful and understated. Dean knew that tradition ran to ostentatious decorations, huge golden vases filled with flowers of glass and silk, or chandeliers draped with crystals and quartz. He still remembered how his mother spoke of the water feature that had been installed when she had married his father. A huge, garish thing that apparently symbolised fertility and love. She had it removed before the wedding celebrations had ended.

There were receiving rooms and a whole suite of private rooms, a gift from a mother who understood how much Dean hated being in the limelight, even though his position demanded it. There was the bedchamber and next to it another one, obviously, a fallback option in case the two of them did not connect and wanted to live separately.

“I don’t think we’ll need this,” Dean grinned, as Castiel looked across the threshold at what had clearly been intended to be his room.

Castiel tilted his head, thoughtfully, and murmured, “I’m not so sure about that.” Before Dean’s heart could break in his chest, Castiel grinned at him, wickedly, “This would make a perfect nursery.”

Dean didn’t recognise the groan that escaped him. A needy, stifled thing he had never heard from himself before as he crossed the room and pinning Castiel against the door frame kissed him with all the heat and passion that had been building between them since they had scented each other in the side chapel. Even so, he could feel Castiel’s smile against his lips. “You like that, alpha?” Castiel breathed, nipping at the shell of Dean’s ear. “You like the thought of me carrying your pups?”

Dean had no answer. There could be no answer, nothing beyond the desperate moans that told them both Castiel had discovered a kink Dean had until this moment not known he had.

“Why don’t you do something about it?” Castiel rasped and it was a miracle that Dean managed to maintain any kind of control over his alpha when his omega, his mate, his _true mate_ was offering himself up so readily. His blood was a loud rush in his ears, his heart pounding somewhere in his throat and he was dimly aware of the red encroaching his irises. He pulled back from Castiel, only to lose himself once more when he saw that the blue of Castiel’s eyes had begun bleeding into omega gold.

Dean mouthed over Castiel’s scent gland, searching for the spot that he would mark later. He couldn’t have said whether it was he who lifted Castiel up or whether Castiel used his position against the door to his advantage, but either way, Castiel’s legs were wrapped around Dean’s waist and thank the Gods Dean could call on his alpha strength to carry him because the feel of his mate so close was enough to make him weak at the knees.

Somehow they managed to make it back to Dean’s bedchamber.

 _Their_ bedchamber.

Castiel lay sprawled against the covers, looking up at Dean with hooded eyes and Dean would have loved to have savoured the moment and appreciate how utterly beautiful his husband looked, but there would be other times. For now he just needed to get their heavy robes off, they needed skin and Dean didn’t particularly care if he ripped his clothes in removing them, it’s not as though he would be needing them again. Beneath him, Castiel tore at his own robes, doing a much better job of casting them aside than Dean was.

A frustrated snarl broke from Dean’s throat as Castiel discarded the last of his clothing, while Dean struggled with the fastenings of his cape. Mercifully, Castiel pushed himself up onto his knees, somehow able to undo the tiny hooks with an unfairly steady hand. If it weren’t for the bright gold of his eyes and the raggedness of his breath he could be confused for being utterly unaffected by his alpha attempting to claim him.

In no time at all, in too long a time they were both finally naked and able to touch each other properly. Which they did. Excessively. At length. Dean worshipped every inch of Castiel’s skin, wanting to take it slow but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to. He was so hard, his knot already starting to form from something as simple as rutting against Castiel’s thigh, but it seemed to be enough. Castiel was not complaining, arching into Dean’s touch, pulling him closer, kissing him on his lips, his eyes, his neck, wherever he could reach.

There were several things Dean had imagined. He had imagined a night of tender lovemaking where he would learn how to take his husband apart again and again. He imagined how they would pace themselves so they would not be mated until dawn found them, still wrapped in each other’s arms having teased each other all night. He would learn how his husband liked to be pleased. If Dean was to take him in his mouth what noises would he make? Would his fingers tangle into Dean’s hair? Would he tug harshly when Dean swallowed around him or would he be silent, with only his breathing to betray the depth of his pleasure? He would still be wearing his crown, would he look down, his eyes following every movement Dean made or would he throw his head back, his eyes closed against his husband’s ministrations. He dared to imagine Castiel presenting, allowing Dean to kiss his way across his ass, his tongue tasting the first taste of slick…

But ultimately his fantasies would have to wait. Castiel was panting at Dean’s ear, “Knot me alpha, knot me,” and what kind of mate would Dean be to deny such a fervent request? He moved his hands lower, trying very hard not to come as his first finger breached Castiel’s rim. It was not the thorough preparation Dean would have wanted for his mate, but it was enough. Castiel obviously liked the burn or was too far gone to appreciate it, thrusting himself back against Dean’s fingers. Dean closed his eyes, the sight was too much, too wanton. If he closed his eyes it was easier. That was what he told himself, as though the soft gasps his mate breathed did not sound all the more erotic when Dean could not see what he was doing to them both.

Castiel moved to present, but Dean’s hand was firm on his hip, pulling him back. “I want to see you,” he said, his voice several shades lower than he was used to. His skin burned where Castiel touched it, his touch scalding and the way their lips fought for dominance only fuelled the fire. Castiel looked at him for a moment, considering the request and then their roles were reversed. Pushing Dean against the pillows, Castiel straddled Dean’s hips, leaning in to claim his lips again.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed, brokenly, pausing for a moment to cup Dean’s face gently. “You are everything.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he could possibly say in response to that so he just bucked his hips, encouraging Cas to take him. And Cas, a gentleman, did. He lowered himself slowly, achingly slowly but not stopping until he was sitting across Dean’s hips. Dean wasn’t entirely sure which of the sounds were his and which were Castiel’s, but they mingled together in a chorus that Dean would be replaying in his mind for days to come.

He couldn’t breathe, his breath caught somewhere in his chest at the tight heat he found around him. For a moment, neither of them moved, snared in each other’s gaze as though they were surprised to find each other there.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, as Castiel, without breaking eye contact, rolled his hips and started riding his mate.

He was beautiful, breathtaking, his hands braced on Dean’s chest as he allowed himself to rise and fall, Dean’s knot catching on each thrust. Reaching between them Dean took Castiel’s cock in hand, trying to pump him in time with the rhythm Castiel had set, but it was becoming harder and harder to stay coordinated as heat pooled deep in his gut. Their thrusts were messy, desperate but then Castiel leaned in and laid his claim on Dean’s neck and Dean’s climax hit him harder than any he’d had. His knot caught, locking them together and as the pain in his neck subsided into bliss, Dean pulled Castiel down, barely taking the time to scent him before he made a mark of his own. Castiel’s breath hitched as he painted the space between them white with his own release, and Dean fell back against the pillows, pulling Castiel down with him, glad that they were joined together because he wanted to be so much closer.

The haze subsided and Dean lazily kissed at Castiel’s mating mark, laving it with his tongue to clean it, feeling a warmth settle in his body as his own mark took hold. They were mated. They were forever joined. Forever attuned to each other. They would never be parted, not even in the next life. Already their bodies were drawing closer even as they lay against each other. Dean ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair, trailing kisses along his neck, reverent and worshipful.

“That was-” he started, trying to catch his breath, but Castiel only beamed back at him, his eyes slowly bleeding back to blue. “That was-”

“Yeah. It was.”

Castiel kissed him and Dean wondered if anything would feel as wonderful as this.

“I love you,” Castiel said, sincerely, trying to settle himself without hurting Dean. Of course, the movement and possibly the declaration caused Dean to lock up again beneath him and he groaned, loudly as he came again. “Hm,” Castiel murmured, with satisfaction, “I can get used to this.”

“You should,” Dean muttered, “I’m not letting you go, not again, not ever, not for a moment.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel said, exchanging lazy kisses with his husband, his mate. “You’re mine and I am yours. Forever.”


End file.
